


twin-sized mattress

by rire



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:54:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4372625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rire/pseuds/rire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times they shared a bed, for four different reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	twin-sized mattress

i.

 

The hospital room is white and cold and sends chills through Midorima’s spine. Akashi looks pale, paler than Midorima has ever seen him, clutching tightly onto the hand of his mother, who is even paler so that she might match the sheets she lies amidst. She’s small and fragile and drowning in the sheets and tubes. Midorima remembers his stomach clenching when he sees her. It’s a cruel twist of fate that she flatlines with Midorima standing at Akashi’s side and his father nowhere to be found.

Akashi breaks then, his composed façade cracking and shattering into a thousand pieces. He slumps forward in his chair, covering his mouth in his hands, and lets out a strangled sob that echoes through the room as the tears cascade relentlessly down his face.

A bitter taste fills Midorima’s mouth and his lower lip trembles, but he bites down on the urge. Instead he rubs circles on Akashi’s back. He regrets that his hands are trembling, but with how much Akashi himself is shaking perhaps he won’t even feel it.

He looks at Akashi’s mother, beautiful even in her sleep. He is old enough to understand that she will not come back. A strange sense of protectiveness washes over him, and it is then that Midorima makes a promise both to Akashi’s mother and to himself that he will become a doctor.

 

-

 

The phone rings in the middle of the night. Midorima picks up, luckily, before his parents and sister have awoken.

“Sorry,” Akashi’s voice breathes quietly on the other side. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Midorima whispers back. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Akashi’s composure crumble, hears the ragged sobs resounding in his ears. His heart begins to race with a million questions, but the one he asks is, “What do you need?”

A heavy silence hangs on the other end.

“Can I come over?”

This voice isn’t Akashi’s, Midorima thinks. It’s far too small, too vulnerable.

“Of course,” Midorima whispers. “Of course you can.”

It wasn’t the first time he had slept over. They did live next door to one another, after all. A small knock sounds at the door, and Midorima tiptoes out, careful not to wake his family. He opens the door, wincing at every tiny creak, and lets Akashi in. His hair is messy and his eyes are half-closed.

“I can’t sleep,” Akashi admits, after Midorima has led them both into his room and they are sitting on the edge of the bed, legs dangling just above the ground. “I keep seeing her in my head.”

Midorima vaguely hears him let out a breath, as if the admission to the fact that he had feelings were a relief. Midorima doesn’t know much about grief and about loss, but he feels that the two are, normally, intertwined. And to think that Akashi is afraid to feel grief makes him uncomfortable in ways he can’t phrase.

“It’ll pass,” Midorima says, his throat tight. He doesn’t know what to do, so he reaches his hand out and rubs circles in Akashi’s back.

“I don’t want it to pass,” Akashi says. “I don’t want to forget her.”

Midorima’s hand stills. His mouth opens and closes, but he finds no words.

“I’m sorry,” Akashi says, and Midorima thinks that he should be the one saying those words. They exchange a quick glance, but then Akashi looks away. “Let’s go to sleep.”

Though it isn’t the first time Akashi has slept over, it’s the first time they have shared a bed, for the sole reason that it is too late at night to venture out to the storage closet beside Midorima’s mother’s room without waking her. Midorima doubts that his mother’s overly doting personality would have much help on Akashi in this situation.

So when they are both nestled under the covers, the space between them both too narrow and too wide, Midorima finally gathers the courage to blindly fumble around under the covers until he finds Akashi’s hand. It’s small and warm, and he catches it in his own and squeezes.

“You don’t have to forget her.” His whispers curl like smoke into the darkness. He bites his lip, unsure if Akashi is awake to hear his words.

At least, not until Akashi squeezes back.

 

-

 

ii.

 

A childhood together had rather blurred personal boundaries—at least, in the physical sense. So Midorima was left to wonder why, as he lay next to Akashi, he felt so utterly and completely alone.

They had fallen into a routine during their away games. The rooms had two beds; Midorima would claim a separate bed out of decency, but it was always Akashi who, in the middle of the night, slithered under Midorima's covers like he belonged there. He had no qualms about it, simply silently leaned his head into the crook of Midorima's neck as if the very brush of his arm against Midorima's didn't send a thrill through his body.

Gradually, Midorima gave in to Akashi’s whims. The two of them would lie there, fingers intertwined—tapings off—and Midorima would be more than content to look up and count the grooves in the ceiling and listen to Akashi make small talk. Sometimes it was basketball, sometimes Aomine and Kise’s latest antics, sometimes a discussion of prospective high schools. Other times—Midorima looked forward to these—Akashi would let slip a small detail about his life. The first time he rode a horse. The time he picked strawberries with his mother. Those times, his voice fell soft and secretive, like the first snow in the beginning of winter.

It was after the one-on-one with Murasakibara when everything began to change. When the physical boundaries began to build themselves back up. When Midorima looked at Akashi, he thought he saw someone he didn't recognize. But no matter how much he had changed, it was still Akashi, after all.

He lies, now, in his usual spot, clenching his fists and staring at the nape of Akashi's neck, itching to touch but too scared that his fingers will only come in contact with a glass wall, as he waits for Akashi to speak.

When Akashi turns, his eyes are empty.

"You're staring." He’s seeing Midorima, but not really seeing him, stating a bothersome fact instead of a whimsical observation. Midorima is not seeing Akashi, either.

"Sorry. I can't sleep." It's not a lie, but the bare minimum of a truth. Akashi doesn't know, doesn't need to know, that he is the cause. That even though he is physically there, he is absent. The absence of Akashi's hair tickling his neck, the absence of the pad of Akashi's thumb rubbing soothing circles across Midorima's palm, is driving him out of his mind.

When Akashi speaks this time, his words fall hard, like hail, the cold stinging Midorima's skin and absorbing through to his bones. "We have an important game tomorrow. I am sure you understand that it would not be prudent to bring the team down because you were busy losing sleep over something childish."

It hits him, then, that he knows. Akashi knows what Midorima is thinking. Of course; how could he not?

"Go to sleep, Shintarou."

And despite all the times Midorima has dreamt of Akashi calling him by his first name, he doesn't like the sound of it.

"Yes."

He turns to look at the unoccupied bed to his left, wishing he were there instead. He doesn't fall asleep for another hour.

 

-

 

iii.

 

It is sheer coincidence that the typhoon hits hardest the night Akashi is back in Tokyo. It’s been two weeks since Akashi’s loss at the Winter Cup, which means two weeks of Midorima’s shaky fingers repeatedly picking up and putting down the phone, a million possible conversations forming in his head and none of them translating into text.

And all of that culminated into Akashi showing up at Midorima’s door at nine o’clock at night, positively drenched in rainwater and wearing a rueful smile on his face.

Midorima doesn’t ask, just sighs. “Wait here,” he says, rushing inside and grabbing a towel, then returning and throwing it at Akashi’s face. Akashi rubs his hair gingerly, fluffing it up. Midorima resists the urge to pat it down.

“The trains are down because of the storm,” Akashi explains with an apologetic grimace. “I was wondering if—”

“Do you even have to ask?”

Akashi gives him a grateful smile. “Sorry for the intrusion,” he says, bowing slightly as he enters. Although this is the polite and charismatic version of Akashi that he’s known for so long, Midorima still isn’t quite used to it yet. He doesn’t know what to say, so he takes Akashi back into his bedroom, because he needs _somewhere_ to sleep.

“Are you sure this is okay?”

Midorima sighs and nods. It isn’t as if they haven’t shared a bed countless times before. Before everything happened, but that was a different story altogether.

They sit, perched on opposite sides of the bed, and the way the bed dips with Akashi’s weight is so familiar that Midorima finds himself smiling.

He recalls, now, why he doesn’t know what to say. Because between the two of them, there had never been a need to say anything. They just knew.

Is it still this way between them now?

The wind outside sounds like hushed secrets, and the rain a steady trickle of emotion. Midorima looks over at Akashi, surprised to see that he is sitting and leaning against the headboard, looking down, hands clasped in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Akashi blurts out. Midorima has never heard Akashi blurt anything out in his life, his words always calculated and composed, and he is rather taken aback.

“It’s not a big deal, really,” Midorima offers. “My parents are out of town anyways, and it’s not your fault that the storm—”

“No, that’s not what I mean.”

Midorima falls silent. It occurs to him that Akashi is talking about another storm, the one that has been brewing between them for what seems like ages. The kind of storm with howling winds that chilled Midorima to the bone and kept him awake at night.

Akashi looks at him, a wordless apology in his eyes. An apology too big for words. He opens his mouth, looks confused when nothing comes out, and looks down again.

He laughs, quiet but harsh in the cold night air. When he opens his mouth, his voice sounds incredulous, almost ashamed. “I—I don’t know how to say this. I don’t know what I could possibly say to make up for… all this.”

And that is all it takes for Midorima to realize that Akashi doesn’t have to say anything.

He clears his throat and looks down. “You know that regardless of the weather outside, my door is always open.” _For you,_ he doesn’t say. This line alone is cheesy enough, and he anticipates he will regret it for the rest of his life.

But when he dares to look up, he is both surprised and horrified to see that Akashi is blinking back tears.

“I know,” Akashi says softly, dabbing at his eyes with the corner of his sleeve. His eyes are red and his hair is still wet, but when he smiles, it’s as if all the planets have been aligned again. “Thank you.”

Midorima removes Akashi’s hand from his eye and holds it in his own. It’s cold, and small, and feels just right.

And then the moment is ruined by a loud sneeze.

“Sorry,” Akashi laughs. He reaches for the tissues on the bedside table and blows his nose. Midorima turns his head to hide a chuckle, because he’s only human, after all.

“Lie down,” he says, and promptly tugs the covers over both of them, enveloping them in a sudden warmth. Akashi leans his head in the crook of Midorima’s neck, and they fall asleep like that, listening to the symphony of the rain and of their heartbeats.

 

-

 

iv. 

 

The morning sun stretches out like a languid sigh over the room, bathing the sheets in a serene glow. Midorima doesn’t mind being woken up like this—the sight of red hair tucked against his shoulder, the touch of Akashi’s fingers half-curled against his chest, the sound of early birds in the air and the smell of clean cotton sheets.

He looks over his shoulder at the clock. The time for them to wake up has long since passed, and he kisses Akashi’s forehead. He doesn’t wake up, only mumbles and stirs in his sleep. Midorima rolls over, pressing kisses along Akashi’s jaw, his neck, nibbling at his earlobe until Akashi finally squirms awake.

“Five more minutes,” Akashi grumbles, pulling the covers over both their heads.

“It’s eleven,” Midorima comments, his tongue darting out to lick at Akashi’s collarbone.

Akashi whimpers softly. “It’s Sunday. It’s our only day off from work. Let me sleep.”

“We’re meeting up with Takao at twelve, remember?”

Akashi lets out a half-sigh, half-groan, but he presses a lazy kiss to Midorima’s jaw, so that’s a good sign. “I’m tired,” he grumbles. “I don’t wanna get up.”

Midorima sighs. Akashi always acts like a petulant child in the mornings, and, well, there’s really only one way to wake him up.

He slithers down under the covers. As expected, Akashi is still naked from last night. He tongues experimentally at Akashi’s cock, and it twitches. Akashi fists a hand in Midorima’s hair, letting out a soft groan.

He takes more of Akashi into his mouth and licks and sucks at all of his sweet spots until Akashi’s moans have increased in volume and his legs are involuntarily trying to close. “Shintarou,” Akashi says breathily.

Midorima only hums in response, pushes Akashi’s thighs further apart, and continues until Akashi’s hand has an iron grip on Midorima’s hair and his heels are digging into Midorima’s shoulders. Midorima takes all of Akashi in at once, feels him hit the back of his throat as Akashi lets out a high-pitched whimper. Akashi’s hips buck up, but Midorima presses them down—he knows Akashi likes it better this way, likes giving up control once in a while. He feels Akashi’s hips twitching helplessly under his grasp, senses his muscles tensing and knows it when he’s close—can feel it coming even before Akashi throws his head back and gasps as he comes. Midorima swallows it all, swipes up what little slips down his chin and licks it off his fingers.

“Shit,” Akashi breathes, sounding wrecked, and the noise shoots straight to Midorima’s crotch.

Midorima crawls back up the bed and ruffles Akashi’s hair. “Awake yet?” Midorima says, the corner of his lips curling up despite himself.

“Don’t look so smug,” Akashi says, batting his hand away and straddling Midorima in one swift motion. He thrusts his hips forward, grinding their cocks together, and Midorima barely bites back a moan. “You’d better call Takao and cancel those plans, because we’re not going anywhere for the next hour.”

 _Well, that certainly backfired,_ Midorima thinks helplessly to himself—and then within the next minute, he stops thinking altogether.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
